


When I Fall

by echoinautumn (maybetwice)



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Adrenaline, Frottage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-05-26
Packaged: 2017-12-13 02:00:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/818639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maybetwice/pseuds/echoinautumn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A fill for a  prompt: "Star Trek (AOS), Sulu/Chekov; frottage - adrenaline rush"</p>
    </blockquote>





	When I Fall

**Author's Note:**

> A fill for a prompt: "Star Trek (AOS), Sulu/Chekov; frottage - adrenaline rush"

It’s not the running that gets him this time, even though Sulu’s been an adrenaline junkie his whole life, since the first time he jumped from the roof and tried to fly. His mother caught him then, broke two of her fingers and he broke his arm. When it was over, they lay in a heap in the grass and she laughed in relief until she cried in pain and scolded him for scaring her, stopping short of chastising him for being so much like his father. When he fell off the drill—fell, not jumped this time—he thought of his mother the whole time he tumbled toward the ground, clinging to Kirk and waiting for whatever happened when no one caught you after you jumped. Kirk had been the one who jumped then, not afraid of leaving his mother, even though everyone knows that his famous father is dead. No one knows that Hikaru Sulu’s father is dead too; a hero just like George Kirk, only not as famous.

It was Chekov who caught him then, preventing him one more time from finding out when he hit the ground.

This away mission began as normal as any other, so dull that Kirk had begged off in favor of paperwork and sent the two of them instead. It didn’t take long for it to fall apart and send both Sulu and Chekov darting through the forest, narrowly avoiding trees and sparing only half-glances to the other when it was safe to chance it. The same adrenaline rush, the reason he put aside astrophysics and botany to become a pilot, pulses through his veins as they run, until they finally skid to a stop on the edge of a low cliff. It’s high enough to count. It’s low enough that it won’t kill them.

Sulu isn’t sure who’s going to catch him this time, but he catches Chekov’s hand and pulls him over the cliff.

It moves so slowly, slow enough that Sulu memorizes all the details of that instant. Chekov’s eyes are blown wide in fear, sparking in excitement as he stumbles over the cliff rather than the graceful leap Sulu takes, arcing high before the world jolts around them and they plummet toward the ground. Sulu presses his hand over Chekov’s mouth to keep him from shouting, and the fall takes so long, even though it’s only a few seconds before his back slams into the ground, soft with heaps of old leaves.

The forest air is thick with the smell of leaf rot, the musky scent that reminds him strongly of autumn on Earth. Chekov coughs and gasps for air above him, but Sulu caught _him_ , and that distracts him for a few precious seconds, until the muffled shouts from above echo down toward them and he freezes.

“Don’t move,” he warns quietly and manages not to laugh at the scathing look Chekov shoots him from atop his chest. His arms are still tight around Chekov, but the implication that their hips are perfectly aligned hasn’t quite settled into Sulu’s consciousness, let alone into his cock, which is soft and still and pressed against Chekov’s.

“Was not planning on it,” he mumbles beside Sulu’s ear.

The shouts become softer and the word _beam-up_ drifts down to them. Sulu sighs out the breath he had been holding, as though their pursuers, an angry race being considered for membership to the Federation, could have heard him if he breathed.

“They think we’re gone.” Even though it’s safe, even though he could let go now and Chekov could push away, neither of them do so. His heart is thudding against his chest and he can feel Chekov’s hammering in his own chest. Sulu _lives_ for this and by the look in Chekov’s eyes and the sudden hardening against his cock, he’s starting to think that maybe Chekov does too.

Chekov is the one who laughs first, a bursting bubble of laughter from deep inside him, like all the fear and adrenaline rushing to the surface and coming out in a jubilant bark of laughter at being alive. Sulu laughs with him, closing his eyes, the shock of falling and hitting the ground and surviving, of catching Chekov and surviving—both of them _surviving_ —is almost too much for him. He completely misses the transition from laughter, but the next thing he knows is Chekov pushing him into the musty leaves and kissing him hard. He breathes his relief into him, his thanks for catching him, and Sulu reciprocates it with stunned surprise.

All Sulu knows is that Chekov must have leaned in first, because his eyes are still closed and his body is still flat on the ground, just where it was when they fell. He collects his senses through the haze and arches up against Chekov, taking advantage of the break in the kiss where Chekov gasps aloud to flip Chekov underneath him, a flurry of dried leaves falling back around them and lodging in Chekov’s hair when he rocks his hips down against him hard.

He doesn’t have time to care that it’s not sensible, that Chekov is his friend and the person he works with the closest; that they’ll have to face each other the second this is done and still try to get back to the ship. For now, they’re alive, they have each other and they’re going to make it back to the ship one way or another. Chekov pushes back against him, twisting a leg up and around Sulu’s hip. He gasps out loud and Chekov’s eyes open, twinkling in mirth as he shushes him, pulling him into another kiss.

Chekov fumbles between them, reaching for the clasps on Sulu’s uniform pants, the same ones on his own, and pushes their clothes out of the way until Sulu’s cock brushes against Chekov’s. The bare friction, the soft cries Chekov makes, the pulsing warmth that settles in Sulu’s stomach, all urge him on to hold onto Chekov’s shoulders tightly and push against him harder. He tries to stare at him, to take in the somehow fragile beauty of seeing _Pavel Chekov_ spread underneath him, mouth parted in a soft _oh_ between the ever-present gasps for breaths and the soundless whines that could be from Sulu himself. It doesn’t take long for him to give up, to close his eyes when Chekov arches against him, overtaken by the sudden epiphany in this.

For all his attempts at restraint, Sulu is the one who comes first, his cock throbbing with a dull ache more from _needing_ to get off than just _wanting_ it. He wants this, doesn’t know anything he’s wanted more, or anything he’s actually allowed himself to want so badly. He kisses Chekov again, harder, needier, all the way through orgasm, until Chekov gasps and pushes back against him, his fingers digging into Sulu’s shoulders when he comes seconds after Sulu.

The afterglow doesn’t last long, not when they both become slowly, increasingly more aware of the sharply cold breeze and the possibility that they may still be found. Sulu groans when he pushes himself up and away from Chekov, who dips his fingertips into their mingled come and grunts with the effort of rolling onto his stomach, pulling his pants back on.

They exchange a hesitant look, neither quite finding the words for what’s just happened and neither quite caring to address it just yet. There are other things to handle first; getting the leaves out of Chekov’s hair, clearing off the distinctive stains from their uniforms and then, finally, getting back to the _Enterprise._

All the same, and because it seems like the right thing to do, Sulu takes a breath and Chekov shakes his head, holding up a hand as he draws out his communicator. For a brief moment, Sulu is silent, the words stuck in his throat as Chekov requests beam up for two; sends word that yes, it’s just them.

When he closes his communicator, the words fade away, just as Scott calls down a countdown for beam up. He doesn’t know what to say, how to say it, or even what meaning to put on what’s happened, if any at all. Chekov’s expression is unreadable until he begins to dematerialize; his eyes set on Sulu’s when he opens his mouth and speaks.

Sulu can’t be sure what it is he’s said, not over the roaring in his ears, something like flying the old fighter jets he first learned to fly and something like the wind on Vulcan rushing past his ears; things he’s never been able to forget and things he doesn’t know if he wants to. He’s not sure, but the shy smile Sulu could swear he sees lingering on Chekov’s face when they land on the transporter pad is all the confirmation he needs. 


End file.
